Maniacal
by Potatoes4Eva
Summary: When fighting the battle of the only friend he really had at the moment, Johnny's past comes to haunt him in the form of a girl even more over the cliff of craziness than himself.
1. Prologue

Maniacal

AN: Why hello there! Yes, this is the second time I've written this, but that's because an awesome plot came to my house one day and beat me up in front of my mom, so I had to listen to it from then on. It's name was Robert. Anyhoo, I hope you'll enjoy this version much, much more than the last one. Elizabeth's a bit more developed, Lefty's a bit more grumpy, and Right Mind's a bit more innocent-happy-helpful.

This 'chapter' doesn't have much Johnny, but I think it's pretty essential to the story, so I advise not skipping over it. And, by the way, this is NOT rated 'M' for 'Merry Christmas'. It's rated 'M' for 'Get the hell outta here if you don't like cuss words, slightly suggestive themes (not like THAT, but you know what I mean!), and blood, guts, and gore galore!'. :D Mmmmmyep...

Disclaimer: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac does not in any way belong to me (seriously, I don't even have the comic), and instead belongs to the Almighty Jhonen Vasquez (AKA: The thinnest, most awesome guy on Earth). Seriously, though, how's he so thin?

_Prologue:_

**SOMETIME IN THE PAST**

Cold steel pressed into the sensitive skin of my thin neck, tickling me. Not a good tickle, like when your little brother comes up behind you with a feather or something, though. I had absolutely no urge to laugh (okay, that's a bit of a lie, but stay with me here), onlu a burning trickle of _hate_ throughout my guts. Like eating a dead rat. It makes you all grumpy inside, you know? The same grumpy feeling I felt whenever my stupid brother, Rodney, came in and took my _favorite _axe (because it was so very sharp and fit perfectly in my palm) for "band props" without even asking.

Yes, yes, it was mt foolish 19-year-old brother Rodney who'd gone and left me fucking defensless.

Struggling against the fat and hairy arms drenched in sweat incasing me -and possibly belonging to a rapist-, I gave a fake coo of innocence. "Oh, how _lovely_! My father will be just so very pleased that you've found me! I heard he put a hefty reward out for those who bring his beloved daughter back home where she belongs."

I could lie. Oh, lie I could. And gloriously, at that. Then again, the expensive, goody-two-shoes clothes probably helped.

_"But, I'm proud." _The inner voice, the man inside the gears of my mind chuckled gleefully. _"You've got a nasty old man holding you from behind, slitting your neck, groping at your chest, and you're still my pecious little despicable genius!"_

I hadn't even noticed the..._shudder_...groping until now. Ugh... Filthy little fucker...

_'Lefty, please,' _I could hear the smirk in my own thoughts. I was starting to get a big head. _'You're embarrasing me! And I _always _come up with an easy lie, now _don't I_?'_

One of my more gracious qualities, honestly. It had gotten me out of so much trouble before, like it would now.

The groping stopped, but only for a second, and his hand stayed on my chest. Disgusting bitch... "_Nng_," The captor grunted. "How many rewards we talkin' 'bout?"

An uneducated pervert. Of _course_.

"Umm..." I put up my most helpless, adorable expression. This is when you start enjoying the fact that you've got big eyes and a round button nose. "He said... The man with the fliars, I mean..." _"Smooth." 'Shut up, Lefty!' _"Ten million dollars, I think." Oh, please. My father would have put up even _more _than that. Aren't wealthy families the greatest?

A grunt. "Oh yeah? You dink I beev dis bullshit?" What _was _he; a _baby_? "Gimme da proof."

_"You're toast."_

_'Screw you, Lefty. Just shut up and watch the master at work.'_

"Okay!" I giggled like a Japanese scool [1] girl, when I wished to do nothing but _gag_. Maybe if I barfed, he'd let me go... "Just let me go for a second and I'll take the fliar out of my pocket! Then..." Vile shadowed my throat. I was _seriously_ going to hurl. "Then you can touch me all you want."

I'm still not very sure, but I think the wink was seductive enough. He did grunt (fucking pig) and let me go. Then, of course, before he actually did, he just _had _to give my chest a damn..._squeeze_. Ugh. Fucking filthy little...

After turning away, a vicious smirk overtook my face. Rodney hadn't left me _entirely _defenseless... Elizabeth Rule #1: Always have back up.

Reaching down as thought to scratch my ankle, I fumbled around in my shoe for one of my..._various _toys. This one just happened to branch out through someone's body when you stabbed them to pull out their organs. Neat, huh? I'd used it once before this time. It had been hysterical.

_"Oh, Elizabeth and her toys."_

_'It's true! I _do _love my toys!'_

Within seconds, the man was lifeless, blood spread across the dark alley like jam. Hm...

_'Maybe I'll go over to Juan's place and get some toast. Maybe ask him if this bitch went to Hell.'_

The decision was forgotten got a moment.

_"Elizabeth!" _This wasn't my Left Mind. _"Elizabeth, why would you push me out like that? Elizabeth!"_

Oh great. The party pooper.

Together, Lefty and I sighed, _"'Hello, Right Mind.'"_

Right Mind was a very nice voice. She told me to do good things, told me when or how to do something I needed and...she was almost always right, hence the name _Right Mind_. But, even then, she could _really_ ruin our- 'us' being Lefty and I- fun sometimes.

Lefty was the _exact_ opposite. He was quite negative, evil, and liked tacos.

I was prudent to step around the pools of coppery-smelling red (though 'black' would be more sufficient, considering the moonlight's contrast). Father would have a fit if I got blood stains on my nice new shoes. Oh... Oh, wait...

He chuckled darkly. _"You're not wearing your new shoes, dumbass. You're wearing your boots. Marie will probably help you spit shine those babies, too. No need to fear such absolutely _beautiful _blood. No n-"_

_'You talk too much.'_

I smirked. Pulling my sweater (you know, those ones that are shoulder-less but still have sleeves damn whoever invented these shits?) up, trying to cover my shoulders, I made my journey to Juan's.

_'Damn it. I hate this stupid sweter. Can't I wear a normal jacket, or maybe a sweatervest?' _I loved sweater vests. I still do.

_"You've failed your way through school, Liz." _I hated it when he called me that. It was such a common nickname. _"You're 20 years old and just now on your second year of highschool! Yet... Why do you _always _have to look like such a damn nerd?"_

_'Fuck you.'_

_"I'm serious."_

_'Go away.'_

_"Make me."_

_'Maybe I will!'_

_"Yes."_

_'...What?'_

_"What?"_

_'Shut up.'_

_"Make me."_

_'Fuck you.'_

As you can see, you...seer, you... Left Mind and I had always had a _beautiful_, wonderful relationship in the fifteen years we'd known eachother. When our little...arguement (I guess) eventually came to a stand-still, I looked down.

Shadows cascaded the ground, following me and snickering, taunting as I looked forward instead of behind, because in truth, I was afraid of my own shadow. Street lights flickered on an off, screaming out morse code threats to the hateful shadows, standing up for me when I couldn't, then lighting my was kindly. I smiled in the ghostly friend of light, arms crossed over my chest.

Was it just me, or had I seen this in a Tim Burton movie?

_"Oooh! Oh oh oh! We should go watch Coraline! Or Corpse Bride! Nightmare Before Cristmas!"_

_'Maybe Marie will watch it with me.'_

_"You're really set on going there. I bet'cha got the hots for Juany-boy."_

_'Ew. Just ew.'_

_"_So what_ if he's _Satan_? You're definatly all drooly and sweaty for him."_

_'Again, ew, Lefty. Just ew! And I don't drool. Or sweat.'_

_"Keep foolin' yourself, babe."_

"GRRAAH!"

Lefty shut up after that, thankfully, with some help from Right Mind. They're possibly the most half-way insane and surprisingly adorable couple ever. Leasurly, I made my way to the house of the man I'd made a deal with when I was a musical little five-year-old brunette.

I ran my pale fingers through short, blood-stained locks. I really missed not being a homicidal maniac,

_"But then you wouldn't have me, short stuff."_

I was 5 foot 11. And Lefty was an idiot. I wish I didn't have him around. Then I'd be normal. Then I'd be in colledge. Then I'd have a boyfriend or something.

Then maybe _he_ wouldn't have left all those years ago.

_End Prologue_

A/N: So... How'd you like? Sorry there's no Johnny and stuff. -looks down sadly- Well, he _is _in here, just not where you can see him. MWAHAHA! I'm evil. Sort of. Don't judge. Well, I guess you can judge... Wanna go judge in the form of a review? YOU GO DO THAT, MY FRIEND. YES, YOU GO DO THAT. Please. I'm begging. I need reviews. I have a horrible disease cured only by reviews. Please don't let me die!

Yeah...

Love you always! Or until I stop. Doesn't matter much, does it?


	2. Chapter One

Maniacal

AN: Hello, hello! Usually I wouldn't update this quickly, but the first day of school's tomorrow (NOT looking forward to it), so...

Welcome to the first _actual _chapter of Maniacal! I hope you find this chapter awesmazing. I revisedandedited it _so _many times, I could barely even see what it actually says on the rough/final draft (since I only write one before I "publish"). The first part is in tird person, but the rest should be in Elizabeth's point of veiw.

This may seem a bit confusing, but I'm pretty sure Squee! is set _after _Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. In the last issue, Johnny leaves, and in the last issue of Squee!, Todd (AKA: Squee) Casil is put into the Defective Head Meat Institute by his parents. This takes place shortly after the end of Squee!. You understand? Yeah? Okay. Good.

Oh, and if you happen to start wondering about Pepito's odd behavior in the first part, I imagine he'd be very protective over his best (and only) friend.

Disclaimer: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and Squee! don't belong to me in any way or form (Well, I own the Squee! comics, but I didn't create them, sadly). All credit goes to Jhonen Vasquez, the skinny guy with monsters in his brain. The only thing I own is the plot and Elizabeth. And The Minds. I might own more... -shrug- Oh well. You get the idea.

_Chapter One:_

**4 Years Later**

_He had been enrolled in The Defective Head Meat Institue for a little over two to three weeks, when he'd heard somebody's-most likely a gaurs'd- loud, stomping footsteps, accompanies by a light pitter-patter sound of someone smaller running after them, barrel down the empty corridor and to his own padded holding cell. The door had been slipped open loudly, letting in bright florescent lights, causing him to hiss. The gaurd had taken off, running away and screaming like a filthy little girl after dropping his weapon._

_The light in the padded cell had filtered in from the small window until the florescents slipped in, the only think allowing any sight being the full moon out that night. Four long rectangles lay softly against the floor of the cell. He was thankful after the florescents blew out, and he knew his savior had shorted them out for him, using spooky powers. The moonlight left a mysterious glow on The Savior's already omnious face, but he liked it that way._

_The sunshine burned him now, like the hall lights, so he slept with the sun, and awoke with the night. That was the only erason he'd really been up to begin with. It wasn't like anyone was going to come anywhere near him. No one dared test him after the third day, when he'd became violent and beaten a gaurd. With a psychiatrist. He wanted to laugh at the memory, but such a thing had quickly become impossible in his apathetic state._

_"Amigo?" murmured The Savior softly. "Squee?"_

_Todd Casil ghosted his wide, emotionless orbs over the Antichrist's small frama before smiling slightly, narrowing his icey eyes, though he didn't speak a word._

_"Come, Todd. We shall have you cleaned up right away."_

_Pepito Diablo liften the boy up and walked into the waiting room, where his mother and father were conversing with a professional therapist ('Have they come to play?') and the infamous homicidal maniac, Johnny C._

_"We've many arrangements to make, my Squee."_

**LINEBREAK OF SKITTLES**

I growled under my breath as I stitched up the little voodoo-styles doll in my left hand with my right.

"Lefty, why do _I _have to do this?"

The doll's button eyes narrowed dangerously and it scowled, bringing up a fingerless numb of a hand to hit against my arm.

"Because, Toots," Lefty screeched. "I don't exactly know anybody _else _who can hold a needle between their fingers! WHICH I DON'T EXACTLY HAVE!" He'd never stop hating his stubby little arms, would he?

The doll looked too much like me. Lefty was 'male' (He was a _doll_, after all. He didn't exactly have '_parts_', if you know what I mean), with emerald-colored buttons for eyes and shaggy, brunette 'hair' tipped with black (almost like it had been burned) on his cloth little head.

Right Mind (whom was sitting in my lap) had only a few differences, such as the 'hair' being longer, un'burned', and tied up loosely, and instead of Lefty's hoddy and jeans, she had a light green dress.

But, they each had my face, for the most part. My button nose (figuratively), and my large emerald eyes, buttons or ot, and my chocolate hair colour (before the blood had stained it red, I had had very soft, very long, very chocolate-brunette hair, just like my mother).

I didn't reply to the boyish doll, and continued poking myself with the needle in a failed attempt at closing up the hold in his stomach. After so many years of stitching Lefty's multiple tears up (mostly all from me, because he manages to piss me off all the time), you'd think it'd get easier, right?

Well, it _doesn't_. It just _does not _get any less awful. At all.

I glanced at Right Mind while she pulled at the hem of my black-stiped white shirt with both her stubby little arms. D'aw, how cute.

"Elizabeth," she suggested in the very wise and feminine voice of her's, "Why don;t you see if somebody else can do this. Perhaps somebody-"

"Who actually _knows_ what the hell they're _doing_?"

"Actually, Lefty, I was going to say somebody who's professional in this line of worse, but I suppose that works, too."

I rolled my eyes. "Right Mind, what kind of person is actually _professional _at sewing up sarcastic, evil, kill-crazy dolls?" Whoever it was, it wasn't me.

Her lips-whichwere actually just lines of peach threat stitched to make a mouth- curled up at the ends and her cute little hands dropped from my shirt to point at my hands. I let Lefty drop to the floor ("Ow! That was completely unnecessary! Why the fuck did you drop me?") so I could pick up Right Mind. Comfortably she sat herself between my bony fingers, smiling again.

"I'm proud of you." she said.

I furrowed my eyebrows, but smiled back, ultamitely confused. "And why is that?"

"Because," whispered the little doll. "You haven't killed anyone in three whole days. You'er more sane than you have been in quite a while, Elizabeth."

"I love you and everything, but I'm talking to a doll. I'd hardly call that sane."

She giggled, happiness taking over her dolly features. "Well, I _am _no _ordinary _doll, sweetheart. We _both _know that."

For once in a long time, I let myself laugh with her. It felt weird. Unpracticed... What's the word? Foreign. Yes, that's it. Laughing felt a bit foreign. I hadn't really _laughed _in a while...

Eddie said I had Mother's chuckle (I couldn't see it. I was too much like Father. I had his chuckle. Don't listen to Eddie.), and Rodney said I have Father's eyeroll (it's true. That man is much too sarcastic for his own good. It's funny.) and sarcastic manoe (see paranthaseed-is that even a word?- words to your left). Eddie and Rodney are my favorite -and only- little brothers.

Eddie was the only one that still lived here with me (Rodney moved out and found a place with his girlfriend, Rouge), though, besides out parents. He'd also the only one in the family that knows about my..._condition_.

Speaking of my 'condition', I was still in highschool because of it. At 24. Yes, yes, I know. I'm smart and all, but just...not very good at showing up to school on time, or sometimes, just showing up in general. I was usually too busy killing people for Juan, or sharpening things that aren't supposed to be sharp.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

My twelve-year-old brother rapped angrily against my bedroom door, shouting near incoherent words. The entire room was sound-proof for my usual screaming fights with Mr. Samsa. [1] Mr. Samsa is my pet Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. I like to yell at him. He is very large. And spooky. Hehe. Oh, anyways:

"Elizabeth!" How the hell did he manage to shout through a _completely_ fucking sound-proof door? "Satan called and I answered! I ANSWERED SATAN OH MY GOD OH NO OH NO! Anyways, he said he needed you to go over to his place= OH MY GOD MY SISTER'S GOING TO SATAN'S HOUSE- because Pepito won't stop going insane! MY SISTER'S THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN CALM DOWN THE ANTICHRIST HOLY-"

I heard him angrily stomp away. He was a very loud stomper. Damn, I felt the house shake. Did I mention he was moody? Like, incredibly moody? No? Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was _pregnant _or something. But, he's half my age, and a boy, so, I'm pretty sure he's not pregnant. _Pretty sure_, but not certain.

"I like him."

"Lefty?"

"Yes, Lizzy-poo?"

"Me too."

Eddward Charles was way better than _Rodney_, the axe-stealing emo 23-year-old goth drum-fucker guy.

I punched myself in the face._ Hard_.

Elizabeth Rule #2: Do not be a bitch.  
><em><br>_**LINEBREAK OF SKITTLES**

The sky was clear as far as the eye could see; a wide horizon of sunset-orange billowing around me. The houses down this road were all beautiful, and the lawns were trimmed gracefully and gorgeously.

As I clobbered down the walk to the Diablo Residance, I mused quietly yo myself, conversing with The Minds as inconspiciously as possible.

"What kind of insane, exactly, was Eddie Charles talking about, you think?"

Lefty poked his head out of the left pocket of my dark blue skinny jeans (they're still a bit baggy...) to shrug nonchalantly. Wow. How inconspicious, indeed.

I continued, humming to myself in thought. "I mean, Pepit goes into all kinds of fits of insanity. He'll go into an insane fit of anger, an insane fit of depression, and insane fit of arrogance, and insane fit of blood-thirsty, firey, spookiness..."

"I hope he didn't punch his mother in the face again." Right Mind sighed, snuggling deeper into her pocket. "He cried so much after the last time. Poor boy gets so _guilty_ sometimes." That had been two years ago (when he was three and it had been an accident), but I understood half of what she said.

"Really? Because, _I _heard he blew up a bunch of grade school kids a little over a month ago and laughed hysterically about it."

"Liz, you heard that from Pepito himself." _'Stop calling me 'Liz'.' _"And he kept stopping to catch his breath because he was laughing so hard."

Lefty grinned his dolly grin. See how very inconspicious we are? "I like _him_, too."

Pepito was the most fucking _adorable_ little Antichrist _ever_. Not that I knew anymore Antichrists, but... How could Lefty _not _like him? I knew _I _**loved** him. He was like another baby brother, or, dare I say it...a..._son_.

Right Mind was about to respond, but I put my hand over her pocket to cut her off. We were right outside the pristine, fancy house. Smoke came in large clouds from the chimney, thought I knew better. That was _not_ from your average fireplace.

Lifting my blood covered fist [2], I knowcked lightly on the overly pretty door, only to have it open on the first knock. I rapped my knuckles against a lawyer-looking guy's forhead on accident because I didn't know he had opened the door until too late.

I immediatly blurted out, "Are you a prostitu- I MEAN, PROSECUTOR?"

I put my hand tight against my left pocket to shut Lefty up before he could burst out laughing and raise suspicious towards Prosecutor Guy.

Prosecutor Guy, however, was near silent. The quiet was very ackward, and all I could do was smile politely while I patiently waited for an answer.

"Were you just about to ask me if-?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I get those words mixed up alot."

"Oh."

"Mmhmm."

"But, to answer your questions, no, _I_ am a _therapist_."

I blinked. I'd had therapists before. Eddie and my old friend Devi [3] had taken me to one when I was 16, to get over the fact that..._he'd_ left.

I stared at Prosecutor Guy for what seemed like hours.

"I loved him." I didn't care to look at his reaction. Everything was black. "I loved him so much. He was my best friend. He understood. He didn't ridicule. He had a soul as pure as can be. They took him. And that doesn't mean I'm bad. I'M NOT BAD!"

There was a sharp pain in my side, bringing me back to reality. I looked back at Prosecutor Guy. Turns out, he'd hit me with his purse [4]. And then pushed me over and ran from the building, terrified.

Elizabeth Rule #3: Another day, another person who runs screaming in the other direction. Though, I'd say that's a bit more of an observation.

I let myself into the overly clean and perfect house, seeing as Prosecutor Guy wasn't kind enough to invite me in. The aura of the house was tense. Worried... Frightened, evil... And cherried. But, that last one was possibly just a smell. I let go of Lefty's pocket (unleasing horrible laughter of _doom_) and made my way to the main room, where Marie and her Juan were bound to be.

I found them in the living room, sitting on a vanilla-coloured couch, looking worried and speaking in hushed tones. I could only pick up very few words, such as "home", "poor boy", and "take it well". I do not like secrets, but I respect them, so I stopped listening in (it was honestly futile anyway) and looked to the man around my age pacing, wearing a path in the carpet. He was obviously deep in thoug-

Wait. Shit. Wait wait wait. Oh fuck.

Holy- _No no no_, it _couldn't _be. Just couldn't. Nope. _Nope! __**NOPE!**_

Fuck. _FUCK!_ _**FUCK!**_

No, it's not. It's not him. It. Is. Not.

But it is.

His chestnut eyes shine with concern, his worried pace, and the tugging at his two blackish-blue bang-like hair stalks all adding up to his obviously horrified, confused, and angry look. He's a very tall-not as tall as me, though-, thin man. Beige skin was tinted with yellowm black clothes showered with red. I could smell it. It was blood. The dark rims under his eyes showed his Insomnia, and the calloused hands proved his skill with a knife.

"J-Johnathon?"

He glanced up at me with his slightly narrowed, cherry-wood eyes. No recognation gleamed back at me. Heh. He didn't even say 'hello'..._****_

_End Chapter One_

A/N: -GASP- Did you see that? IT WAS ALL 'BOOM BOOM I'MMA FIRIN' MA LAZAH'. Yeah. It was that epic. Well, despite my narcassistic mood when it comes to the last few sentences of this chapter, I'd like to hear what you'd like to say... Oh, and if you're curious:

[1] What's this? A part of the plot? -GASP- Yeah, you'll find out sooner or later. Just be patient. MWAHAHAHA-HACKHACKHAOUGHHAACK. Mmmmmmyep...

[2] From punching herself in the face. XD

[3] Bet you didn't see _that_ coming. It'll probably even be a small part of the plot. :D MAYBE. Only I know, so HA!

[4] It was _actually _a suitcase, but Elizabeth's a bit... _You know_.

Well, I think that's all I really have to say besides: Review! I'm so very hungry, and I'm allergic to everything! But not reviews! So feed me! Fill me with reviews until I explode!

I have one question for you reviewers: Do you like Elizabeth so far? If you're confused on how she looks, I'll give you a more in-depth decription in the next Author's Note. And she probably seems like a bit of a Mary-Sue so far, but trust me; she's not.


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